


The taste of sunshine

by localfreak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a hedonist, Fluff, Fruit, Hedonist Aziraphale (Good Omens), Holidays, Immortals on holiday, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale, on a balcony in Spain.That's basically it, just a little bit of fluff.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	The taste of sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a post _somewhere_ where someone pointed out that whilst many of us currently can't leave our homes, our favourite characters can go anywhere. Cue me picturing Aziraphale and Crowley basically anywhere I've ever been. This piece of fluff brought to you by a week's holiday in Fuengirola about five years ago. :D

Crowley leaned back in the reclining chair and listened to the sound of the waves against the shore. The rhythmic noise, that never really changed no matter how much the shoreline itself might, seemed to cut above the distant shouts of children and the sound of adults drinking irresponsibly on their package-deal full-board holiday deals. At least one of them would be arrested by morning, and Crowley knew of at least four people in their hotel alone who would end up jumping in the freezing outdoor pool fully clothed by the end of the night. He could, of course, lean over the balcony and watch them on the veranda below; maybe give one or two a nudge- but it was hardly worth it. Drunk tourists were very good at making poor decisions all on their own.  
And besides, the evening sun was still warm, reflecting off the white floor of their balcony and Crowley was quite comfortable where he was, basking. 

On the chair beside him, Aziraphale sighed, making his place in his book and stepping back through the white curtain for a moment. 

“’ssup, Angel?” Crowley called, but Aziraphale was back in a moment. 

“Oh nothing, my dear, go back to sleep.”

“Mmm not asleep. Just…y’know.” Crowley felt his limbs settle back into that nice, sun-drenched lounge he’d been perfecting, eyes still closed. 

“Oh yes, it is so peaceful here, isn’t it? Just lovely. We really had been in London too long without a break, I’d forgotten how warm the sun could feel like this.”

“Mmffh” Crowley agreed. 

The sweet, citrus smell of oranges reached him quickly. Ah, so that’s why Aziraphale had got up – they’d purchased them from a little market earlier that morning, the angel exclaiming over their size and colour and how everything seems just a little brighter and more vibrant on holiday. 

Crowley didn’t argue. He peered through his glasses subtly, as Aziraphale arranged the peeled segments on a napkin next to him and selected a slice. Only an angel could peel an orange and have his hands remain as clean and neat as ever.  
But, thought Crowley, only this angel could do that without the use of a miracle. Crowley watched Aziraphale hold the segment between finger and thumb before bringing it slowly to his lips. His pink lips parted slightly, and a tiny flash of equally pink tongue and white teeth was visible for a second as Aziraphale bit the segment in half. Eyes fluttered closed for a moment as the angel concentrated on chewing. He licked his lips as he clearly moved the orange piece from cheek to cheek. A tiny noise of enjoyment escaped him- nothing dramatic, nothing that a human would even hope to hear but a noise Crowley had trained to listen for over the centuries. Crowley watched as Aziraphale swallowed and then placed the second half of the segment in his mouth in one go- the tip of a finger momentarily sucked in, in between his own lips. 

The process repeated: Aziraphale’s eyes would close, a moment's concentration as his tongue and teeth worked to eke every last taste before swallowing the fruit. 

Crowley had watched Aziraphale eat so many times over the years, but he never grew tired of the sight. Slowly, he became aware that he was no longer lying back in his lounge chair, but was sitting upright, leaning slightly over the armrest of his own seat the better to watch.  
Aziraphale, picking up his final segment of orange, caught his eye and smiled. 

“These really are delicious, my dear? Did you want to try-?”

A few years ago, Crowley might have pretended he did, or (more likely) collapsed the folding seat into a heap on top of himself in his efforts to scramble back and pretend he hadn’t been watching lecherously – the way Aziraphale enjoyed food was almost obscene at the best of times, how could he resist? 

But now things were different. They didn’t have to pretend. They could just lie here, on a balcony, in the sun and do whatever they wanted.

“You have it, Angel.” Crowley muttered, waving away the proffered fruit. 

If he kissed Aziraphale, right now, Aziraphale would taste both of himself and, slightly stickily, of orange juice. Crowley thought. 

A few moments later, Crowley smiled into a warm, sweet kiss that tasted of sweetness, citrus and sunshine.


End file.
